


taxes are for schmucks

by ShitfishGhouligan



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Before Buzzfeed Unsolved, Friendship, Hints of something more, Humor, M/M, Present Tense, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 10:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15338202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitfishGhouligan/pseuds/ShitfishGhouligan
Summary: It all starts with an innocent question. As most things often do.“Do you smoke?”





	taxes are for schmucks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paraesperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraesperanza/gifts).



> So here I am again.
> 
> Writing absolute nonsense. Don’t mind me, I’m just giving life to some cracky ideas. (This one is inspired by a dear friend because they’re a fucking enabler lmao)
> 
> I don’t know what I’m doing tbh.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @ shitfishghouligan

It all starts with an innocent question. As most things often do.

“Do you smoke?” Ryan asks, his eyes wide and questioning. Shane doesn’t know whether he should be offended or not because this _is_ a bit of a stereotype. He’s a tall, lanky dude in a floral print top, timberland boots, and tight pants. Hes practically, the living, breathing definition of a hipster that indulges a bit too much on cannabis when the time is right.

But Ryan doesn’t know that, of course. It’s all conjecture.

Then again, it doesn’t help Shane’s case that he’s sitting on some couch, a safe distance from where the rest of his co-workers are playing rounds of beer-pong and some other insane drinking game he can live without.

Maybe it’s that particular detail that gives him away.

“You trying to say something, buddy?” Shane says, a teasing note to his voice that makes Ryan flush several shades of scarlet, his grip on his beer bottle tightening.

Ryan’s sitting on the other couch, oddly enough. It sort of surprises him really. Ryan Bergara is a frat boy by all accounts. With his sports tee, Laker’s hat, and patterned pair of Kobe’s, one would think he’d be out with his cohorts drinking himself into a stupor rather than here, with him. “You saying I’m the kind of guy that takes a puff out of the good ole’ peace pipe?”

Then again, Shane doesn’t know Ryan beyond their brief interactions at work. For all he knows, Ryan could be a more complex human than he appears.

Ryan shakes his head, a laugh rumbling from his throat when Shane makes a face, his own fingers falling away from the neck of his beer bottle to wave his hand in a flourish.

So what if he’s being a bit facetious here? Ryan doesn’t him know him well, pushed together by the powers that be. This is the first time he’s had, outside of work, to get to know the little guy, to get a feel for him before he’s saddled to the dude.

Buzzfeed is, after all, their overlord and master. It doesn’t matter one bit that Ryan is the one running the show for this project, that Shane’s just there for the ride. Whether they got along fine or not, they are both well adept at making things work just for the sake of the camera rolling in front of them, and that is really all that matters.

“You’re _exactly_ the kind of guy I imagine taking a break at the back of the office for a smoke.” Ryan says once his laughter dies down to a soft wheeze. “You’re wearing floral print with _denim_. Pretty sure you were born out of the womb with a blunt in your hand.”

This tears a laugh out of Shane.

He doesn’t expect Ryan to banter right back. As silly as that thought is considering they work for a company that makes a killing out of publishing strange and hilarious YouTube videos.

“Well, if you _must_ know, I was thirteen when I learned of the ways of Mary Jane.”

Ryan’s eyes bug out, a sharp laugh leaving him that makes Shane wonder if Ryan is going to choke on his spit. It’s funny, in a way, just how easily Ryan laughs at his jokes.

“ _Thirteen?_ Jesus Christ, Shane.” Ryan is shaking his head again, as if he is ready to scold him for it. If it weren’t for the wicked gleam in Ryan’s eyes and the way he leans forward, his chest puffed out like some peacock, Shane might’ve thought him serious. “No wonder your fashion sense is deplorable. The weed got to you before common sense did.”

Shane shrugs, reclining further into the couch.

“Oh please, frat boy. As if you haven’t taken a page out of my book.” Shane shoots Ryan a devious look of his own, a terrible idea forming in the back of his head that he _knows_ he shouldn’t entertain, but he does anyway because _why not_? “Bet you choked the first time you smoked too.”

Ryan does, actually, choke then. A flush rises from his neck and up to his cheeks, a stubborn glint forming at the corners of his eyes. Shane perks up at that. Seems like he’s hit a nerve. Oops.

“I did _not_ , asshole. I was one of the few not to choke on their first try, thank you very much.” Ryan pouts, the stubborn set to his shoulders inciting Shane to poke more fun, to _push_ now that Ryan has given him this.

Shane tilts his head, as if assessing Ryan from the top of his head and down to his toes. Sizing him up because if Shane is good at one thing, it's setting people off.

“Don’t know, you’re kinda short. Do you even _have_ the lung capacity to--”

“Shut up, Shane.” Ryan interrupts, a tick to his jaw. There’s something furious in Ryan’s eyes now, and Shane’s insides curls with absolute delight. Ryan is _so_ fucking easy. “If you think you’re such a pro, why don’t we take this outside, big guy? Go a few hits and see who can go the longest without choking?”

Shane knows this is a mistake. He doesn’t know Ryan, doesn’t know what to expect from him when he’s balls deep in the jane. But it’s the determination in Ryan’s eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw, that cinches it. He can’t refuse. Between the utter joy at seeing Ryan fall on his ass and the familiar thrill of a challenge, Shane is just as much a victim to this game as Ryan is.

With a nod, Shane stands from his seat. His half-drunk bottle on the small sofa table is the only evidence that was even sitting there in the first place.

“Challenge accepted. I hope you’re ready for this, little guy.”

Ryan scoffs, stands, and abandons his drink on the table as well. The party is still in full swing, but no one seems to notice when Shane pushes past them and into the backyard, his hand fishing for his bright blue bowl, pink lighter, and his baggie of weed from inside his pocket while the other slides the backyard door shut.

The night air is cold against Shane’s cheeks, the soft rustling of the trees and bushes the only indication of the autumn season. He moves towards the dark edge of the yard, finding that their host that evening hadn’t bothered to border off his yard from the forest out back.

He doesn’t listen for Ryan, doesn’t wait because Shane already knows that Ryan is following. Ryan doesn’t seem like the kind of dude to flake out once a challenge is delivered. It’s honestly better this way. And if the little guy got cold feet, well, Shane isn’t the sort to let this sort of thing go. Ryan will live with this humiliation for the rest of his life, courtesy of ole Madej.

At the tell-tale sound of metal hitting plastic, Shane turns and spots Ryan jogging to catch up to his longer strides. A laugh escapes him, tickled pink by the frustrated flush on Ryan’s cheeks and the glare he shoots in his direction.

“Would it have killed you to take human steps for once? Or is it too much to ask from a giant like yourself?” Ryan grouses, his hand coming out to comb the few hairs that had escaped the gel he’d slathered on his head.

“Yes. I would have died a painful and excruciating death trying to go at your grandmotherly speed.” Shane deadpans.

“Oh, _fuck off_.” Ryan starts, but stops when Shane passes him his lighter. Ryan fumbles with it before he takes it, as if he had not expected Shane to hand him anything at all.

“Hold onto that. I gotta prep the bowl.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything to that, which suits Shane just fine. He needs complete concentration for this. Weed isn’t cheap, even if it is rather easy to acquire. He’s got to make what he has count, especially when it is now _two_ smoking from the same baggie.

It doesn’t take him long to stuff the opening with the curled leaves, thumbing through it to make sure that no crevice is left unclaimed. He doesn’t look up at the feeling of Ryan’s eyes on him, or at the nervous sounds of fingers tapping at the cheap lighter.

“Alright. It’s ready, hand over the lighter.”

With his hand outstretched, Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He places it within his hand almost a second after he is asked, eager to get this show on the road.

Shooting a wink at Ryan, Shane lights it, and immediately the familiar smell invades his senses, his muscles relaxing with each deep inhalation he takes.

 _God_ , he loves the smell of weed.

“Alright. You first, Mr. Pro.” Ryan says, interrupting the silence that had fallen over them from the moment Shane had started prepping the bowl. The fact that Ryan air quotes “pro” doesn’t go unnoticed by Shane.

Well, if he _insists._

“Fine by me. I’ll show you how it's done, short stuff.”

Shane takes a moment to savor the sound of Ryan’s huff, to indulge in the way his eyes roll at the quip, before Shane pulls the bowl to his lips and inhales.

The taste is what hits him first.

Shane sucks it in, smoke and green filling his lungs until his ribs ache. He both loves and hates it. The way it curls just beneath his diaphragm and presses against his esophagus, insistent.

There is no way for him to tell how long he lets it sit in his chest, eyes falling shut when his throat slowly starts to burn, to _protest_ that he’s been holding it in for too long.

It’s almost sad when it ends, when he is finally forced to let it out and come back to earth, to open his eyes and see Ryan’s wide eyes. Almost.

The surprise in Ryan’s eyes is far better than the first hit of his stash. He looks luminous out in the night sky, and dare he say it, enchanting.

“Your turn.” Shane breathes, remnants of smoke still fading from his lips.

Ryan pauses, fingers hesitant before he shakes his head, and reaches for it. His fingers brush against Shane’s, and Shane tries not to dwell too long on the heat that sparks from the contact.

_This is neither the time nor the place, Shane._

Ryan doesn’t take nearly as long as Shane to press the bowl to his lips. He is quick, spontaneous, and hasty. He breathes the smoke in as if it is his last, as if Ryan has suddenly been deprived of air and this moment is the perfect one for him to reacquaint himself with oxygen.

Shane watches, taking in the way Ryan’s cheeks hollow and his chest expands. He can tell that this isn’t Ryan’s first time, that even late to the party, his future cohort knows how to play the game. A smile curls on Shane’s lip against his wishes.

Then the moment's gone too. Ryan pulls away from the bowl, quicker than Shane but still determinedly holding onto the smoke he’d just breathed in.

_What a stubborn thing._

Shane reaches for the bowl, and Ryan caves. It is barely a second after Shane exhaled his smoke, but it is a second nonetheless, and a swell of pride swims in Shane’s stomach, unbidden. Shane doesn’t know where it comes from, why he is compelled to be impressed by something most adolescents can accomplish, but he chooses not to question it. Not here, not now, when the night is far from done.

There’s still a competition to be won, after all.

“Impressive. For a sixteen-year old.” Shane says, pulling the bowl to his mouth before Ryan can even reply.

The smoke flows easier this time when Shane sucks it in. There’s no give, no resistance as his lungs expand and contract. It is seamless, the way his attention begins to waver.

The sky above looks brighter than it had moments before, the sounds of the California air rustling the leaves outside soothing in a way it hadn’t been earlier that evening.

The smoke sits longer in his chest this time than it had before, allowing him to pull him under. He doesn’t fight the wave, doesn’t resist the current dragging him steadily closer to the murmurs in the back of his mind to _chill_. It’s oddly freeing.

“Show off.”

The sound of Ryan’s voice rips Shane from the haze, and he opens his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them in the first place, refocusing once again on Ryan.

Ryan’s practically incandescent now. His skin is glowing, the moonlight and the party lights from inside the house casting him an ethereal glow.

_Like an angel_

A snort nearly leaves Shane at the thought.

_More like a little gremlin._

“Alright. Pass me the ganja.” Ryan mutters, and Shane obeys, a loud laugh leaving him because he can’t _believe_ Ryan would actually use that word. It’s priceless.

“ _Ganja_.” He repeats it, just to watch Ryan color, just to see him squirm and glare at him for a moment longer, before he takes his second hit.

_He’s adorable._

Ryan sucks it in, and Ryan sways. His body is no longer his, and Shane wonders if he should reach for Ryan, hold onto his shoulder because Shane knows how this goes. This isn’t Shane’s first rodeo, and certainly won’t be his last either.

But he doesn’t, he waits, eyeing the way Ryan’s eyes close for the first time that night. It’s the most unguarded Shane has ever seen him—each second of their interaction oddly guarded even if easy.

And then Ryan’s coughing, smiling wide, as if this isn’t his defeat—as if hasn’t just thrown the towel before a more superior smoker.

“ _Your fucking face.”_ Ryan is wheezing now, unable to curb the sound as he attempts to reign in his breaths, to compose himself.

_Huh?_

Shane doesn’t know what to make of it, what to make of _him_ because Shane hasn’t made a face. He’s been relaxed, so far.

“God, has anyone told you that you look like a sloth? That you’re just—“ Ryan breaks into a fit of giggles, literal tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Shane is stumped.

“I look at myself in the mirror daily. Don’t know how you didn’t catch on _sooner_ —“

Ryan nearly drops the bowl, and Shane jumps into action, pulling his innocent bowl from Ryan’s hand as if Ryan has just tried to smash it to the ground. Better safe than sorry, Ryan’s down for the count.

“ _Christ_ , that isn’t even funny. I don’t know why I can’t stop laughing.”

“That’s the weed. It’s potent stuff.” Shane says, bringing the bowl back to his lips to suck at what remains, savoring it now because Ryan is definitely not taking a hit now.

He’s lost their competition, after all.

But then, Ryan surprises Shane by reaching for the bowl.

_Huh, who’d a thunk._

“Pass it here. Can’t let you just take that on by yourself.”

Shane, with smoke curling from his lips, passes the bowl. This time when his fingers touch Ryan’s, he sinks into the sensation, relishing in the way Ryan doesn’t immediately pull away.

Ryan smiles at him, all crinkly-eyes, and it is only when Shane doesn’t say anything for a beat that Ryan presses the bowl to his mouth once again to drag in that sweet, sweet smoke.

The effect is almost instant. Ryan relaxes further into the high, his smile growing wider, his eyes brighter. There is something to be said about good ole Mary Jane, and in that moment, Shane has nothing but fantastic things to say about her.

Ryan lets the smoke settle in his stomach for a beat, Shane watching him all the while. All traces lucidity is lost now, victim to the smoke and strange energy pulsing beneath them.

Or maybe, that’s just the music. Shane can’t tell, not when Ryan is looking at him now, lips twitching as if he’s trying to hold back his laughter and failing.

Rolling his eyes, Shane reaches for the bowl. There’s still a bit of green left, and guessing from the dreamy look in Ryan’s eyes, he doubts he’ll take the last hit.

“Alright, buddy. Gimme here.” Shane catches it, but not before Ryan’s fingers wrap around his wrist, a serious look suddenly overtaking his features.

Shane swallows. There is still a daze in Ryan’s eyes, but all the laughter is gone. He’s gone completely pale too (as pale as his tan skin allows) and Shane doesn’t know what to make of that, still too sober for this.

Maybe after one more hit, he’ll be ready for it.

“Dude you’re from Chicago, right?” Ryan asks, and Shane blinks, not expecting that at all.

“Yeah?” Shane hedges, waiting for Ryan to make sense again, to get to his point.

“Okay, okay, so hear me out.” Ryan starts, pausing only to lick his lips. Shane tries to keep his face neutral, to mask the sudden thrum of anxiety pooling low in his belly. “This has just been eating me alive ever since I went to Chicago last month.”

Ryan’s got a deep look of concentration. One that both scares and fascinates Shane because, boy, he may not know Ryan all that well, but he’s got a hunch that the little guy has more in common with a fiendish gremlin than he lets on.

“Why does Chicago tax ketchup?”

It takes Shane a moment to assess what it is that Ryan asked, to digest, to not pinch himself in the arm. Shane’s lip twitches.

Then—

A deep, guttural laugh leaves him. It’s like a punch in the stomach, and he can’t help himself. Ryan is looking at him all wide-eyed now, but Shane can’t stop grinning.

That’s the dumbest shit he’s heard in a long time. The boy’s had, what? Three hits of generic strain weed and he’s already climbed this far? Shane knows he gets the good shit, but _Christ._

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Shane says between laughs, a wheeze escaping him too when Ryan frowns, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“What? It’s a serious question.”

Shane shakes his head, pushing his bowl up against his lips to take the last bit of smoke with him. He’s too sober for this, clearly. Ryan’s at a whole other level. Probably high as a kite, floating up with all those alien conspiracy theories he’s always rambling about to his friends at work.

“Whatever you say, Mr. “I’m-A-Weed-Smoking-Champ.” Shane teases, smirking only when Ryan begins to giggle helplessly. It’s as if Ryan can’t contain it, can’t stop now that he’s opened the floodgates.

Shane should find annoying to listen to, but it isn’t. To his surprise, Shane discovers as soon as the thought forms that doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Fuck you, Shane. I’m _sober._ ”

“Yeah?” Shane says, raising his brow. “Keep telling yourself that, bro. Maybe one day, someone might believe you.”

* * *

 

Ryan is definitely not sober.

This grows more and more apparent to Shane the longer he listens to Ryan ramble about aliens and how the government is concealing them from the general population.

Even after smoking the last bit of bud from the bowl, he’s not nearly high enough to believe this.

“Wait. Wait. _Shane_ .” Ryan is wheezing, his arm slapping against Shane’s shoulder. Ryan can’t seem to stop, something about Shane’s face making Ryan laugh without end. Maybe it is the earlier comment he made about how aliens, at least the aliens Ryan _thinks_ exist, are cut from the same cloth as the rest of the supernatural boogeymen.

Meaning, they’re total _horseshit._

“Wait. You seriously don’t believe in ghosts?” Ryan is trying to sober up, Shane can tell. Ryan’s got this pucker on his brow now, a twitch at the corner of his lip that announces just how badly he’s trying to stop himself from giggling.

Clearly, not very successfully in Shane’s book, but that’s neither here nor there. Not when Ryan looks ready to break down into another fit of giggles and drag him too over the deep end.

“Nope.” Shane over-exaggerates the word, shaking his head when Ryan has to press his hand to his mouth to stop himself from breaking down into wheezes. “Just nothing but cold air and wind.”

“It’s not!” Ryan refutes, a glimmer of tears in his his eyes. Shane is impressed he could make the guy laugh that hard, to the point of _tears._ Shane knows he’s funny, confidant of his ability to make a person breakdown from just looking at his face, but this is nice. It makes the low haze of his high all the sweeter, the moment nicer even when Ryan is just talking a bunch of bullshit now.

_Yeah, you’re a real lightweight my friend._

Abruptly, Ryan stops laughing. A look of something fearful flashes over his expression, and then he’s grasping onto Shane’s wrist and pulling him further into the yard, further away from the blinking lights of the party.

“Something wrong?” Shane’s stomach flips, his high ruined completely by the way Ryan turns to him, presses a finger to his lips, and shushes him. There’s something terrified in Ryan’s eyes, and Shane echoes that fear, uncertain of what to make of Ryan’s change in demeanor.

“Do you see this dude?” Ryan is whispering now, his hand pointing somewhere in the darkness. The trees are overgrown deeper in the yard, the shrubs and the trees almost lying atop one another. Shane follows in the direction Ryan points, squinting in the darkness through his glasses.

There’s nothing but trees and terribly cut shrubbery. Nothing super frightening in Shane’s book, unless one wants to count the ghastly state of the yard on its own. It definitely needs a trim, but at Ryan’s fearful gasp, Shane turns back with a questioning lift of his brow.

“No?” Shane answers slowly, watching Ryan’s eyes dart from wherever he is he is looking in the dark to Shane. There’s a pucker between Ryan’s brows now, frustrated by something Shane can’t quite identify.

“No? Are you fucking serious? Don’t you see the red eyes? The sharp fangs? _Can’t you hear it growling at us?_ ”

Shane doesn’t know how to break it to Ryan. There’s absolutely nothing there.

“Weed smoking pro, right?” Shane repeats now, and Ryan pauses, the fear in his eyes morphing into annoyance before devolving into another fit of giggles for no fathomable reason. “I’m going to have to ask for your credentials, sir.”

“Fuck off, bean stalk. There’s a fucking _demon_ in the bushes and you’re just-just going to crack jokes!?” Ryan is wheezing now, doubling over with intense fits of laughter that makes Shane laugh too, his ears ringing with Ryan’s artificial comfort. “Are you even serious right now?”

A smirk tugs against Shane’s lips, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes as a terrible idea forms. He might live to regret it the next day, when he’s slightly less inebriated with the bit of bud he’s had, but that will be a problem for tomorrow’s Shane. Today’s Shane is going to do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll stop it from eating you.” Shane winks, and Ryan shakes his head, rolling his eyes despite the wide smile on his lips. “Not that it’d have much. You’re not exactly the largest man here.”

Ryan makes a face and punches Shane lightly on the shoulder.

“Shut up, Shane.”

It is the beginning of a new friendship, and for Shane’s part, he can definitely get used to this. Even if Ryan does believe believe in boogeyman and aliens poking around in the darkness.


End file.
